|
April 10, 2008 (Day 230)
The next week, I enjoyed the feeling of not facing another chemo treatment, but all the thoughts of reoccurrence wormed their way through my brain. They were always just under the surface... squirming. The anticipation of the PET/CT scan was almost more than I could stand. Letting the powerful equipment peer into my body searching for anything that looked like cancer. What would it find? Nothing, I hope with all my being. I wonder how long it will take me to become me again. How long will it take my hair to grow out. Wigs are easy and fun, but I want my own hair. How long for the water retention to fade. When can I expect to look like the pre-cancer Cathie? I wish for my former physical self. I know that mentally I’ve grown from this experience. Regardless of the return of my pre-cancer physical self, it will be a different woman that is looking out of my eyes. I feel that I’m stronger now. Rand says that wisdom often comes from facing hardship. I think that I understand his words, which honestly were often just words. I feel them now. I understand them now. I live them now.
I had been on pins and needles after the scan and before the reading. I was so worried. All the negatives that have been dancing in my mind were having a party. I managed to get my hands on a copy of the scan (minus the interpretation) and gave it the “Heck, I’m a nurse” review. I saw numerous “hot spots” and my heart dropped! I was scared to death that the cancer had spread. That all the hell of chemo treatments was for nothing. Rand consoled me. Told me that I needed to wait for the actual report before jumping to any conclusions. I wept that evening as I lay in bed. I accepted that this path, this lesson, this experience was not over yet. That I still had things to learn. That I still had cancer.... and according to all the hot spots.... it didn’t look good.
My appointment with Dr. Martin to get the official results felt like someone that was walking to the electric chair and certain doom. I dreaded hearing the words coming out of his mouth. I dreaded knowing. The door to the room opens and Dr. Martin walks in. I brace myself for the verbal spear thrust. He tells me that the results of the PET/CT scan were back and there is NO EVIDENCE OF DISEASE. What did he just say? I explain that I had reviewed the scans and found the hot spots. Those he told me were normal. I guess that in the future I’d better leave the scan readings to the professionals. I think that I was laughing and crying at the same time. He explains that I’ll need to do follow-up scans every three months. I hear and understand him, but my mind and emotions are racing.
Lynsday and my in-laws, Bill and Sandy, are waiting. Rand was enroute from work. We all meet in the parking lot. He holds me and we cry. What wonderful news. The world became brighter today. I was given a new lease on this uncertain life. I endured. I fought. I realize that others have dealt with much worse news and I’ve felt those emotions in my doubt and wondering. I feel like shouting to the world. I am beyond happy. I’ve come, fought and conquered and through the process I found parts of myself that I didn’t know existed. I’m proud that I’ve been enlightened by cancer. I’m still here. Living. Growing. Free.
|
